It's a Mugs Game
by Inks Inc
Summary: The FBI mug. It was notorious. It was much more than a mug. It was an extension of Peter Burke's entire being. And now, it lay in smithereens on the floor. The ultimate vandalism has taken place right under Agent Burke's nose, and he is not happy. Warning: Reference to Spanking. Completed One-Shot


The remnants of the mug gleamed up at them with the twinkling sheen of scalding, spurting coffee. The brown liquid seeped from the centre of destruction, dripping gently into the worn fibres of the carpet it rested upon. Four sets of eyes were fixated upon it, horror building in all widening pupils. No-one spoke, no-one dared. It was a crucial moment and it was instinctively known that the first one to speak would be the first one to die.

Slowly.

Peter felt his stomach drop as he stared down upon his crushed cup as one might their first born child. It was broken, shattered, ruined beyond all repair. That mug had seen him through the best of times and the darkest of times and now, it was gone. It was a senseless act of destruction, a wounding act of vandalism. There had been no need for his precious baby to meet such a cruel and untimely demise. It should never have happened and it never _would_ have happened if he had an actual adult and professional team.

Instead, what he had, were three overgrown children.

He tore his eyes up from the chaos at his feet and growled like a wounded hyena in his throat.

"Didn't I tell you to stop it? Didn't I warn you to give it up?" He drew himself up to his fully height as sparks of fury danced from his eyes, causing Neal, Jones and Diana to step hastily back. No-one met his gaze and no-one answered him. He felt his eyes narrow to serpentine slits. He had been in a reasonably good mood throughout the case briefing in his office. That was until all three of his team had decided they weren't all that interest in mortgage fraud. What they were interested in, was the young lady Jones was taking to dinner tonight. All the pertinent information about said lady resided on a business card in the agent's shirt pocket, and he wasn't giving it up.

Not after he had worked so hard to woo the girl in the florists shop.

When he should have been merely questioning her.

Peter's good mood had allowed him to smile at this multitasking instead of frowning upon it. He had even been prepared to allow Clinton an early dart, to get things ready as it were. But...this, this changed everything. In the outright scuffle that had broken out to retrieve the card, to the complete disregard of Peter's hollering, his prize possession had been violated. And now he wanted answers. But as he stared at the gulping trio he realised that he ought to treat the whole scenario as a federal offence, such as its seriousness. And in a federal offence, especially one that involved his mug being pulverised, it didn't really matter _whose_ elbow had knocked it.

They were all to blame.

"Right," he growled angrily, storming to his filing cabinet. Three sets of eyes watched him, their owners holding their breath warily. Not a word was breathed as Peter muttered furiously under his breath before extracting two horrendously thick files. Barrelling back across the room he landed in front of Jones and Diana who winced as they looked up at him. Thrusting a bulky file apiece into their arms, he glowered deeply. "New weekend plans," he announced in a contrastingly calm voice. "Order inventory. Four years worth of data. New budget is due to be announced and Hughes wants all expenditure reports broken down by efficacy for the new ordering year. You're both well capable."

He raised a terrifying brow.

"It's very tedious, very boring and very particular. If I find one mistake, or if I find one comma missing, there will be hell to pay. I want those reports on my desk first thing Monday morning, and if they're done the way I expect them to be done, you're both looking at a long stint of desk duty." He paused for a moment as he breathed deeply. "And maybe when we start _next_ week, I can have my professional Agent Berrigan and my dependable Agent Jones back."

He glared.

"Clear?"

Both stared at him wordlessly for a moment, misery setting in like festering gout. They both knew that they had royally screwed up in bickering after he had told them to drop it, and then scuffling jokingly after he had begun hollering. But…as their weekends disappeared before their eyes a sense of despair trickled in and neither could quite help the puppy dog eyes that pooled on their faces as they stood wordlessly.

Peter was unmoved.

"I asked if that was clear?"

Both knew that to fight the man when he was this irked was a branch of insanity. Nodding miserably and shooting each other scathing looks, they succumbed to their fate. Peter nodded sharply before opening his mouth again. "Diana, you will also spend the rest of the day compiling the report you and Jones were to have completed for our last case. Jones, you are free to go at the usual time." He held up a warning hand as Diana opened her mouth furiously and as Clinton smirked openly.

"Don't even go there," he warned sternly, "If you and Neal had left Jones alone about his _personal_ business, then none of this would have happened." He glanced at the Harvard grad and glared. "Take that smirk off your face Jones, you should never have retaliated the way you did. Best you wipe that grin off your lips before I change my mind and decide maybe Diana does need a hand." The smile instantly vanished as Peter glanced down at his poor beloved mug in chagrin. Gesturing wearily towards the door, he shook his head in consternation.

"Dismissed, the pair of you."

With one last scathing look at each other, the two spun on their heel and strode from the room. They didn't even seem to notice Neal or the look of horror on his face as the door swung close. Now it was just him and Peter, and somehow, that scenario never played out well. There was an ear splitting silence for a moment as the irate agent-in-charge moved to stand directly in front of his most maddening team member, placing his hands slowly on his hips in his patented Neal lecturing position. "Just what in the good hell do you have to say for yourself?"

Neal winced, but Peter wasn't done.

"We're not twenty four hours gone from when I last had to… _speak_ to you, Neal and here you are again, acting the maggot. What do I have to do to get through to you that this is a federal building and not your own private fiefdom, designed for your amusement?" He shook his head wearily. "Do you know how much that mug meant to me?"

Neal blanched and looked down shamefacedly.

"I asked you a question."

The wind flew out of Neal's sails as he answered quietly.

"Yes Peter."

There was silence for a moment as the elder man contemplated furiously before snapping to a fatigued decision. Turning he hunted around his desk and extracted an utterly innocuous looking ruler. Spying what the man held in his hand sent cold shivers down Neal's spine as he shook his head furiously. That ruler may just be a writing implement to most people but to him it spelled mass destruction. Or more accurately, ass destruction. "Peter," he blustered weakly, "Come on man, let's be reasonable. I can probably fix the mug…"

He trailed off at the hopelessness of his promise.

There was no fixing it.

Crooking a finger in a way that made Neal's heart stop dead in its beat, Peter strode from the main office to the outer office. There wasn't much difference in the spaces, save for the absence of excessive glass. The outer office was private, encompassed a thick door and walls and to Neal's chagrin had born witness to many an unfortunate chastisement. Knowing that to bolt from the room would be tantamount to diving of a cliff, Neal reluctantly followed.

When the door snapped behind him and the cloak of privacy descended, he gulped.

Before righteous indignation overtook him.

"Hold on," he protested, causing Peter to raise a brow. "How is this fair? Why am I getting…" he reddened, and merely pointed at the thick ruler, "And Jones and Diana are only getting paperwork? We have no way of knowing whose elbow knocked the mug, so surely we should all be punished the same?" He nodded his head smartly, satisfied by his winning argument. "It's only fair Peter, if I get treated differently…it's unjust."

He gazed imploringly at his handler, looking in that moment like a very adorable Labrador.

"You know you hate injustice, Peter."

There was silence for a moment as the elder man digested this thoughtfully. The more the cogs turned in Agent Burke's mind, the more satisfied Neal became with his tempered brilliance. By the time Peter opened his mouth, he was half expecting an apology for the attempt at differential and unsubstantiated treatment. "You're right, Neal," Peter murmured quietly, causing Neal to smirk happily, his blue eyes dancing. "I should be treating you the same as Jones and Diana, because I have no way of knowing who actually broke it, so you're all culpable."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Of course, with you…things are slightly more complicated," he continued, an almost apologetic note creeping into his voice. "Expenditure reports can only be compiled by federal agents. As ridiculous as that rule is, it's the rule and I can't break it. Which means I'm prohibited from treating you the same as Jones and Diana, but I am obligated to follow protocol instead. Which, in your case, gives me a range of options. But the most obvious and the only suitable one in this case, when we compare it to Diana and Jones' weekend of course, is house arrest."

He nodded sagely.

"Yes, that's the only thing I have left to me Neal. Jones and Diana aren't really getting their weekend, and if you want to be treated like them, house arrest is our only option." He glanced down at Neal's anklet and sighed somewhat. "Would you mind waiting here, while I ring the Marshalls? You know how antsy they get when I call for a radius change." He clicked his fingers as if stricken by a sudden thought.

"And this is the weekend I agreed to take you to that unveiling out of town, right?" He shook his head as he strolled towards the door. "Well…maybe it will be on some other weekend. Ok, so I just need to go and call the Marshalls and find some paperwork that you can do over the weekend." He rested his hand on the door knob and raised a finger. "I'll just be one second, hold tight." As the handle of the door creaked open a horror struck Neal finally managed to find his voice.

"No!"

Peter turned back with raised brows and pursed lips.

"But you said you wanted to be treated the same as Jones and Diana?"

Neal gaped and spluttered all at once.

"Well…well yes, I mean, I do…but…." He trailed off hopelessly as Peter moved back into the room, landing in front of him once more, his hands resting on his hips. "But what, Neal?" he asked quietly, "You can't have it both ways. You can't want to be treated the same as everyone else, but only when it suits you or when you think you're going to get off lighter on account of it." He shook his head sternly. "It's not happening, not on my watch. You're not getting your cake and eating it too. So, last chance. Do you want my way or the more formal way?"

He shrugged lightly.

"Either way is fine by me."

In truth, that was a lie. Neal had worked really well and really hard over the last few cases and Peter was looking forward to giving him a well earned reward. That as it was, he wasn't about to let him off with any less consequences than Diana and Jones had received. Their sanctions may not be the same, but their severity had to be. Peter cared a lot about Clinton and Diana but they…well, he couldn't honestly say that he saw Neal the same as he saw them.

And maybe that wasn't fair.

And maybe that wasn't right.

But it was the way it was.

He tapped the ruler against his palm as he eyed the kid sternly. "Well, Neal? What's it to be? I'm not going to spend the rest of my life in this room while you decide, so hop to it." The bright blue eyes pooled into spheres of pleading. "Does it have to be that?" Neal questioned softly, looking at the wooden rule in misery. "It's cruel and unusual punishment."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"It's fair and just punishment," he corrected quietly, "I'm not going to be ignored in my own office when I tell you to stop horsing around. Not now and not ever. Diana and Jones know that now and you're the only one who remains to be educated on the matter. I need you to decide on that manner of education right now because I'm growing grey and old now."

Neal wildly bit his tongue.

It would _not_ be in his best interests to inform Peter he was already grey and old.

He glanced at the ruler once more and shuddered before reddening.

"I'm still…it's still…from yesterday, I mean…"

Peter stared at unusual lack of pitch perfect elocution. A second later, realisation dawned on him and he fought to keep a fond smile from his face. "You should have thought about that before you decided to galloping around my office like a horse on crack then, shouldn't you?" Feeling like his movements were forever beyond such an analogy, Neal sighed. He desperately wanted to go to the unveiling. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and he had wheedled and bargained with Peter for weeks to take him. Though he'd never admit it, he was looking forward to the road trip with the guy.

Peter was always more laid back and willing to have a laugh out of the office.

They always had a good time.

Seeing the conflict on the kid's face, Agent Burke intervened.

"C'mon bud," he sighed. "Don't make me put you on house arrest and miss our trip, I don't want to do that. I really don't. You've been doing great work recently with a great attitude and it would be a shame for you to miss out. But if you won't accept this punishment, then I have no option. I don't have much time left to organise a radius decrease with the Marshalls so I need your answer now, whatever you decide, I need to know now."

Neal groaned as the decision was instantly made in his mind. He gestured miserably towards the ruler. "Go on then," he griped plaintively, "Go on and beat me if you must." Peter's gaze was far from impressed and Neal hastily backtracked. "Sorry," he muttered, "Bit dramatic." Shaking his head in exasperation, Peter gripped the ruler tighter still. "That's your decision then?" he asked quietly, seeking clarification. "You know the drill kid, once you make your mind up, that's that. No changing your mind."

Neal rolled his eyes.

"I think I'm more than familiar with all the relevant regulations by now."

Peter glowered at the eye rolling.

"I can make you so familiar with them that you become very unfamiliar with sitting, if you like?"

Neal blanched.

"My bad. Sorry."

Nodding silently, Peter strode over to the desk chair and dragged it to the middle of the room. Turning back to the door, he locked it from the inside before returning to, and throwing himself down in the chair. Neal hovered miserably and awkwardly in front of him as he settled himself down and crooked a finger at him.

"Come here."

Neal moved slowly towards his doom, before being stricken by a question he had been tempted to ask many times, but never managed to find the words. The current situation was the most apt of circumstances he was ever going to have and he cleared his throat nervously as he landed beside his handler.

"Can I ask one question first?"

Peter nodded immediately.

"Sure thing."

Neal shuffled nervously from foot to foot and Peter felt incredulity engulf him. The kid was the cockiest, savviest and chilled out guy he knew. But, he reminded himself, a lot of that was the carefully crafted Caffrey image. He smiled slightly but reassuringly up at the young man as he placed the ruler on the ground. He wouldn't be needing it straight away.

"Neal?" he prompted gently, "What is it?"

Reddening, the reforming con man nodded and taking a deep breath, just went for it.

"Why do you punish only me this way and not Jones or Diana?"

Peter stared for a moment, before reddening slightly himself, before taking a deep breath and just going for it. He felt a hand constrict his throat as he tried to find the words. He wasn't a man for emotional speeches and somehow saying something profound just before he was about to tear the kid's behind up seemed bizarre. But he knew it was a question that had been rattling around the brilliant brain for a while and demanded an answer. An honest answer.

"Because neither of them is mine, Neal."

…

A/N: Random one-shot. Also, if you guys haven't seen it, you should totally check out "Dinner at Tiffany's: A Rustic Luncheon." It's El's (Tiffany's) new show where she hosts dinner parties and on the last ep she hosted Tim DeKay (Peter) and Matt Bomer (Neal) and it was just the cutest thing ever! It's on youtube!

Anyhow, hope you guys enjoyed. If you wanna see more WC fics, lemme know.

_Inks

…


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